all of the sudden i realized that zombies just don't matter!
we gotta go grubbin' we might as well let's play a game; we'll pretend we're spartans, put it in john's face (hypothetically speakin') manipulative malignant malicious
get your head out of my trunk--there's nothing there for you, what're you gonna do, shoot me? aaah, it's bad
(put my hands over my ears don't help don't stop don't drown out nothin' but the footsteps in the hall and it's best not to ignore somethin' like that you know? can't help it...i'm affected, infected by this chaos is killing me and listening to reading from learning? would you say? naaaah.)
where's the chocolate? somebody said chocolate! stubbed my toe on the fucking water. i've gotten silly drunk by now isn't that dangerous? we haven't exactly told her yet what am i doing?
there's a note on the door--i can't read.
jeff, you sploded it! you just hyperextended it? ...that's cool. get a communications degree and we'll talk. you need somebody should be wacked? i work in a mental home and the maintenance guy came to spray ants it's a bad idea but there's ants coming out of there and finally i said should we be electrocuted or have ants in the kitchen wiring and stuff?
i'm sure if we stand up it'll all be fine who did you hit drove my knees into your kidneys mostly my fault (we love our audience!) no man, i'm not gonna fight fifty five? fifty cents? that's it, you're a nickel boy and we all know it, i got your keys right? sorry.
where do i have to go social interest program. i think you're right again right again i wanna be in your stuff too. you got some cigarettes? heh, heh, heh AAAAAGGGHHH!!!
it's on me!! it's fucking on me!!
scott dean neal digging screaming burying naked in the sand at the dead-end meeting place of New Holland Street we all take off our shirts and theorize on the long term usage of extremely difficult words and gestures to call back our forgotten Gods. Sun burns slow into dry sand and surreally large cement blockading the beach grass from expensive stepladders and picture windows looking over an ocean of sorts, an ocean for the poor simple minds of a christian awakening into the rites and traditions of old testament clansmen and scholars meet on even terms to discuss strange happenings to the north of a city that lights up the eastern seaboard into pink orange ideals from across the water.
Swoooping down from the heightened mountains across baking sandstone architecture where the rock peoples lived and breathed in the dry red air until droughts sent them packing back into the silver copper towns sprung up out of nothingness and sad futility. The great California finally cashes in her chips and separates from America, falling back to her lover ocean with all the world's dreams waiting in saintly cities, mad visions of plays and jazz music apocalyptic seizures concerning wide-eyes blue and violet squinted against the deep red sunshine closing in across the waterline rising from the landlocked deserts. "don't die to go to heaven, start in on Doctor Pepper and end up on whiskey!!" screaming Slim Gaillard in the subterranean clubs as the warnings come sailing in with the tides to claim what is truly theirs, all night fish and chip places close their doors broken into floating shards to join the river streets thick with wild chaos and cigarette butts. it was the end of the continent, they didn't give a damn anyway and who cared anyway it'll all come up even in the end, white doves in a Chinese grocery-store window, salesmen and four wheel drive motor scooters, a ninety-five year old mexican wearing leather chaps tilts his hat as it begins to rain and the real fun begins.
I had forgotten something.